


The Fake Geek Boy Job

by shinealightonme



Category: Leverage
Genre: Case Fic, Conventions, Gen, Post-Canon, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: "I don't get why I have to be the nerd."





	The Fake Geek Boy Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Framlingem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Framlingem/gifts).



"No. No no no no no," Harrison said, which was at least five more _no_ s than the situation called for. "Parker, you can't steal a superhero."

Parker frowned. That was a lot more ambiguous on her face than it would have been on most folks'. Smart money was on her being offended, but Eliot wouldn't rule out disappointed or hungry or, since it was Parker, lustful for gold. "Lustful for gold" was always a possibility with Parker. "I can steal anything."

"What's so special about a superhero?" Eliot demanded. "We stole a United States general. Superhero's not even a real thing."

"And we stole a jury," Parker piped up.

"And _The Department of Defense_." Eliot figured on that as a solid argument-ender.

"And the Russian ballet," Parker added.

Eliot and Hardison stared at her, and then at each other, argument temporarily forgotten.

"The Russian -- baby girl, you stole the Russian ballet?" Hardison asked.

"What?" Parker asked, nonplussed. "You guys were at that football thing."

"The Superbowl," Eliot corrected her. "You stole the Russian ballet while we were at the Superbowl?"

"Football thing," Parker repeated. "I was bored."

Eliot and Hardison shared a look. It said, not very subtly, _we need to keep a better eye on her._

Then they resumed arguing. Protecting the team was important and all, but nothing beat a good argument.

Hardison pulled a face, which was not impressive. Eliot crossed his arms in that way that he knew made his biceps look huge, which damn well _was_ impressive.

"You can't tell me that stealing one of your -- made up little geek figurines is harder than inventing an Olympic medalist or a Congressman."

"You know what Congressmen don't have? _Fangirls._ And fanboys. Legions of people devoted to memorizing every fact about them -- "

"They got whole channels analyzing everything Congressmen do," Eliot growled.

"Whole channels that nobody watches. Nobody ever got a tattoo of their elected representative. Nobody ever got married while cosplaying as their elected representative. I promise you, if we try to make up a comic book character, we are going to get _called. Out_."

Normally, Eliot was inclined to consider a change of plan when an expert on the subject told him he was making a mistake. But this was Hardison. There was no point in admitting to Hardison that Eliot considered him an expert.

But before either of them could escalate the situation -- Hardison would pout, maybe, or Eliot would start really pointedly prepping the vegetables for dinner -- Parker smacked her palm down on the counter.

"I already said 'let's go steal a superhero'," she pointed out. "We're stealing a superhero."

So that settled it, then. Neither of them argued with Parker for long, not if they wanted to keep the family happy. To say nothing of keeping their eyebrows.

-

"I don't get why _I_ have to be the nerd," Eliot growled.

"Oh, so, now you think this job is a bad idea," Hardison said over the comms. "It's all fun and games disrespecting my people until you gotta don the cape for youself. Well you know what? I'm coming around on this. I think this is a great idea. I think every job oughta involve Eliot wearing spandex."

"I'm never wearing spandex again." Apparently that was too loud. A goth chick and an alien looked over at him. Eliot tried to smile his 'aw, shucks, I'm harmless' smile. It was harder than it should have been. Damn comic book convention was messing with his mind. "I know there's superheroes who wear jeans and leather jackets and _normal clothes,_ why couldn't I be one of them?"

"Oh, _you_ know about the superheroes. Really. Name me one superhero who wears _normal clothes_ and I will let you cosplay as that hero. Name one. One."

Eliot chewed on his lip. "The one -- the guy on the motorcycle. Motorcycle Man. The Biker."

Hardison snorted. "Weak."

"You're supposed to look shy and scared and push-around-able," Parker cut in on the comms. Sometimes Eliot missed the days when she wasn't the voice of reason.

"And Robin the Boy Hostage is way more push-around-able than Ghost Rider. Plus, man, you don't want to be _Ghost Rider_ , nobody wants to be Ghost Rider. We're saving you from yourself." Like anyone on earth except for Hardison even cared about Ghost Rider's street cred.

"Why couldn't I have been Batman?" Eliot asked.

"Man, you liked Batfleck. You don't deserve Batman."

"I only like the cartoon Batman," Parker said.

"See?" Hardison crowed. "That right there. That is why Parker is better than you. That is why Parker is the mastermind. Give it up for _Batman: The Animated Series_." And then there was a noise like a high-five. Since Hardison was alone in Lucille, that probably meant Hardison had just high-fived _himself._ Eliot made a not-very-Robin-the-Boy-Hostage facial expression.

"And why couldn't Hardison be the nerd, again?" Eliot asked.

"I have plans." Before Eliot could demand Parker elaborate, she added, "Mark's coming up on your right."

Which was how Eliot got to bump into a medicine-price-gouging comic-book-obsessed billionaire while dressed up like a teenage circus reject sidekick. He was going to kill Hardison.

-

The problem with dropping hints to get the mark hooked was that sometimes you got other fish biting at your bait.

"Leave the metaphors to the pros, Eliot, you're just embarrassing yourself," Hardison said.

"I'm embarrassing myself? You're embarrassing me. Why don't you come down here and face me instead of sitting in Lucille acting like you know anything about fishing -- "

"Alec Hardison does not fish. Or hunt. Or take part in any sort of outdoor-murder-sport."

"We should go fishing sometime," Parker said.

"Thank you," Eliot growled, at the same time Hardison yelped, "What? _Why?_ " As though that didn't settle it. If Parker wanted to go fishing, they were going to go fishing.

"I heard you can throw dynamite at the fish." Eliot would _love_ to say that was the most disturbing thing Parker had said that day, but it was probably only top five. She was playing high-powered executive for this con, which always brought out a weird side of her. Or, weirder than usual. "Kaboom!"

"No one is giving you dynamite," Eliot said. "And knock it off with the hand gestures. The mark's not going to approach you if you look like a nutjob," though actually, Eliot appreciated seeing Parker do something Parker-like. She never looked like herself in a suit; it was nice to see her break character. Not that Eliot was going to say as much, because breaking character was bad for the job. Never mind that this job had just gotten twice as complicated as it should have been with a rival investor trying to steal their made-up-comic-book out from under the mark. Parker was probably going to have to play a _second_ character before the day was over, which knowing Parker was going to mean changing her clothes with no warning, which knowing Eliot meant an _incipient heart attack_.

Parker glared at him from across the room. "I don't think the grown man wearing spandex and talking to himself gets to complain that I look _crazy_."

"I didn't choose the spandex," Eliot started.

"The spandex chose you. Can't fight your destiny, man," Hardison said. Eliot had to grit his teeth and bite down an answer to that, because someone had approached him.

"I love your costume!" It was the goth girl from earlier, the one that had heard him arguing with Hardison about spandex, with her alien friend in tow.

"What, this? It's -- it's nothing special," Eliot said, in his _awkward geek_ voice, while Hardison squawked in his ear, " _Nothing special_? You know how long I work on these costumes?"

"Can I get a picture?"

"Oh, um -- "

"Please say yes, I'm going to find this girl's Facebook and friend her," Hardison said. "I need this photo in my life."

"I'm not really photogenic," Eliot finished.

"Too bad," Parker muttered. "I already took a dozen photos of you." Eliot glared across the convention hall at her. She had managed to slip in the comment just as the mark looked away from her.

"Oh! No worries. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable," the goth chick said.

"Ugh, speaking of uncomfortable," the alien muttered, and nodded toward Parker.

Or not Parker -- the mark.

Goth chick fumed. "How is he even allowed into the convention?"

"You know that guy?" Eliot asked.

"Know of him, anyway," the alien said.

"He's harassed like a dozen people. He should be banned from the convention."

"He should be in _jail_."

Eliot thought for a second. The plan called for someone who could use nerd-fu on the mark and get him to buy their story about the lost Golden Age comic book. It was a job that was perfect for Hardison, but Parker had insisted it would have to be Eliot, despite him having no inclination for the role. Maybe life was handing him a way to fix his situation.

"You guys busy right now?" Eliot asked.

-

"I can't believe you recruited a couple of civilians to do your part of the con for you, that's just lazy. You're lazy. I'm never hearing another word out of your mouth about my playing video games all day when you're this lazy."

"It's not _lazy_. You're the one who said that we couldn't fool a fangirl," Eliot pointed out.

"I wanted you to recognize the monumental nature of the task we were undertaking, not _crowdsource our con_."

"Shouldn't you be stocking shelves or something?"

"Since I don't actually own this comic book shop and the employees out front don't know that I'm squatting in the back so I can pretend this is my shop, no. Shouldn't you be running interference with our interloper?"

"You're the one who started -- "

"Ah ah ah. Shush. Papa gotta go to work now," Hardison said.

Eliot rolled his eyes and tuned out the conversation coming over the comms, the mark trying to size up Hardison and see if he lived up to the claims that Eliot's fangirl friends had made about him being a rare comic book expert. They'd done a good job planting the idea in the mark's head, and now Hardison just needed the guy to believe he was a nerd before they could sell him on their fake comic book's provenance. Which shouldn't be a hard sell, whatever Hardison was whining about _how hard_ he was working. Meanwhile, Eliot had to run off the real comic book collector who had started sniffing around their story. Keep the guy busy, send him the wrong way, beat up his hired goons -- 

Wait.

Why the hell did a _comic book collector_ have _hired goons_?

"We're never running another job at a comic book convention!" Eliot yelled as he ducked a punch thrown at his face.

"Are you actually beating up a nerd right now?" Hardison asked. "What is this, an eighties teen movie? Are you the jock that hangs out smoking under the bleachers?"

Eliot threw one of the goons into the other. "I'm beating up a couple of ex-Russian military hired guns. But keep talking and I'll see what I can do about beating up a nerd."

"Please, like punching people doesn't make you happy," Parker said. "Don't tear your costume."

Eliot tossed the now-unconscious ex-Russian military fighters in a maintenance closet -- the exact same one he'd had to guard to stop a janitor from walking in on a topless Parker, earlier, and there wasn't enough money in the world to make any of this okay -- and shut the door behind him. He looked down to inspect himself. Hardison's costume was pristine.

"Oops," he said, not convincing and not trying to be, as he ripped his sleeve off. "Guess I gotta change."

"You got no respect for my people, no respect," Hardison moaned. "You're the worst."

-

Hardison had a _replacement_ costume.

Yellow spandex.

Eliot wasn't the worst: Hardison was the worst, the X-Men were the worst, comic conventions were the worst, this job was the worst.

-

"All right," Eliot said. "The mark's going to jail, our client's getting paid, the fangirls who helped us got some dude's autograph -- "

" -- some dude? _Some dude_? You look Stan Lee in the face and call him _some dude_ \-- "

" -- And the convention's finally giving in to activist demands to change their harassment policy because they found two unconscious dudes in a closet. The job is done. And you know what I don't see? I don't see any part of it that required me to be the nerd."

Parker didn't blink. "I needed Hardison to be the expert."

"I could have done that. That would be required less faking like I knew comic books. The nerd was the role Hardison was born to play."

"Thank you," Hardison said.

Parker was unwavering. "But I needed him with me."

" _Why_?"

Parker shrugged. "So we could laugh about how bad you were at being a nerd."

Eliot glowered.

Parker showed no signs of remorse, but then, he hadn't really expected her to.

"I'm going to go blow up Lucille."

She nodded. "Fair."

"What -- no, not _fair_. Parker's the one who said it, why are you coming for _my_ baby."

Eliot stalked out.

"I see what you're doing, you're trying to make me nervous, but I'm not falling for it. I know you're not going to do it. I know you wouldn't do that to me. Eliot -- " Hardison started walking after him, then jogging, then running. "Eliot, stop it with the murder walk. Eliot!"

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic you can [reblog it on tumblr.](http://toast-the-unknowing.tumblr.com/post/162988309270/the-fake-geek-boy-job-shinealightonme-leverage)


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